


Just a Little Pain, Before I Can Save You

by Ranni



Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Captivity, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Torture, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9901814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: "What happens now?" Steve wondered aloud."Well, I couldn't say for sure, but I'm thinking it's probably going to be something very bad," Tony guessed with a frown.He was right.orTony, Steve, and Clint are captured, and must make some unpleasant decisions to save themselves





	

  
The crash must have been terrible, because Steve had been knocked unconscious, and he hadn't known that was even possible anymore. When he awoke they were in a cell with steel walls, and he had a shackle around his neck, chained to the wall behind him.

The rectangular cell was pretty large, as prison cells went; the chain was maybe 8 feet long and would reach most of it. It would not, however, get anywhere close to the door--actually two doors, the inner one barred and the outer door made of the same solid steel as the room. There were bunk beds with thin mattresses and blue sheets built into one wall, and a toilet and small sink on the other side, with Steve chained somewhere in the middle.

As his head cleared Steve finally noticed Tony sitting on the floor while Clint dabbed at a deep cut on his forehead, stopping occasionally to rinse Tony's blood out of the rag--it looked like they had torn it from one of the blankets--into the sink. Of the three of them only Steve was chained.

Tony noticed Steve watching and smacked Clint's leg to get his attention. "He awakens!" Tony pronounced loudly in a very passable imitation of Thor. "About time," he continued in his own voice, "this place is Shitsville and I'm not interested in hanging out watching you sleep."

Clint came over, looked in Steve's eyes, then ran his fingers over Steve's scalp, feeling for bumps and cuts. "You okay? Your neck okay?"

Steve nodded, his head throbbing. "What happened?"

"Clint crashed the jet," Tony said sulkily. He touched the cut on his forehead gingerly.

"Fuck you, Stark, I did not, we were shot down."

"Okay, someone shot at us, and Clint retaliated by crashing the jet on them," Tony amended. Clint made a disgusted sound, leaned against the bunk beds with his arms folded, glaring at Tony. "Then some douches with guns showed up and stuck us in here. They dragged your unconscious ass the whole way, and I guess they knew we were coming, because they already had that"--Tony nodded toward the chain-- "all ready for you."

Steve pulled at the chain a little. It was strong. Very strong. "What happens now?" he wondered aloud.

"Well, I couldn't say for sure, but I'm thinking it's probably going to be something very bad," Tony guessed with a frown.

He was right.

*******

Clint was still a bit of a puzzle to Steve for the first few months the team had been together, flowing back and forth between acting as grim as Natasha and as hyper and buoyant as Tony. Steve was never quite sure who the man would be in the morning as he stood next to the coffee pot, chugging cup after cup silently, barely taking a breath in between, not even bothering to sit down.

After his final cup, which was usually his fourth or fifth, Clint would sigh loudly, hang his head a little, steeling himself. Steve and Bruce would watch and wait, Bruce usually picking at a muffin and looking more than a little bemused by the ritual, both wondering which Barton would emerge.

The great majority of the time, Clint would raise his head and give them a big smile, wish them a good morning. He would spend the rest of the day teasing, joking, full of fun. This Clint would stalk them with nerf guns or snowballs gathered from the roof, targeting Natasha especially with glee. He worked at the range endlessly, never tiring of hitting targets, or would go to Tony's workshop and chat about weapon design. He had an easy, infectious humor and delighted in jokes, even the ones at his expense. He and Tony would play around with a karaoke machine once or twice a week, and Clint always sang 80's songs, dancing while he did so, just to make Natasha smile.

On bad days Clint would raise his eyes from the coffee cup looking inexplicably angry, and stalk off stiffly without a word. He spent the rest of those days absolutely invisible. They had no idea where he hid out, though Tony suspected the ventilation system. Steve gazed at the vent covers in disbelief; surely no man Clint's size could fit in there, and even if so, why ever would he? On those bad days Clint was a silent, seething ghost, unless the call came for them to assemble, or if Natasha found him and dragged him, sulking, out.

Steve was pretty even keeled, so this sort of taciturn behavior, even if rare, seemed pretty childish to him, especially when seemingly triggered by nothing. He had mentioned it to Bruce and had expected Bruce to agree it was silly, maybe commiserate a little about moody Barton. Steve had been surprised when Bruce had appeared annoyed with _him_.

"You know what his job is for Shield, right?" Bruce asked. "You've seen his files, some of the things he's done? Some of the things done _to_ him? Let's just be glad he can be as sunny as he is, as often as he is."

Steve hadn't looked at Natasha and Clint's Shield files since the first week they had been together, and then he had only sort of skimmed them, looking for accomplishments, for worthiness. After speaking with Bruce he read them again, more carefully, and had been horrified. Both had suffered terrible childhoods, then became assassins for an agency with what Steve considered to be somewhat questionable motivations and very little oversight. They had hurt people, been hurt themselves. Captured, tortured--and more than once. Steve had been haunted as he pushed the papers away.

Later, when he went to the common room, Natasha had been laughing at some story Bruce was telling. Steve found himself staring her hands, which had killed many men, now so casually flipping through a magazine. Clint and Tony had been cooking together, trying to outdo one another with showy pancake flips.

"Breakfast for dinner, Cap, guilty pleasure of all Americans," Clint said with a big smile. And Steve had winced, knowing that his happy grin had eight porcelain teeth implanted in the jaw, Clint's original molars having all been torn out while tortured.

Steve had managed to smile back, but had trouble forcing down the pancakes when they ate, while everyone chatted cheerfully around him.

Maybe Clint being a little moody some days was understandable.

*******

Day One

Steve could never figure out if they were HYDRA, or AIM, or any other of the many arms of the rotten people of the world, but in the end it didn't matter. All the mattered was that the three of them were prisoners, their gear and weapons taken and Steve effectively incapacitated.

"Each of you, backs against different walls, arms out straight, raised to shoulder height." One guard was in the room, a nightstick on his belt, gesturing with a wicked looking cattle prod while two others hung near the doorway, guns at the ready.

Steve moved against the wall and raised his arms, the bolt holding the chain digging slightly in his back. Tony and Clint went to different walls and did the same, Clint closest to the door. He watched the guards with sharp, evaluating eyes.

The head of the outfit was a slim, dark haired man who introduced himself only as Salyers. None of them had been especially surprised when he said he wanted Tony to build weapons for them.

Tony laughed, and Salyers shrugged, then raised a gun to Clint's head almost lazily.

"I can sell Captain America to a number of governments," he said mildly, "but this one is of no use to us."

In the end, Tony had not been willing to call his bluff and had gone with them. They put a black bag over his head but left his arms unbound as they walked him way. Steve worried about him for the next few hours, pacing back and forth to the limits of the chain that tethered him, occasionally pausing to uselessly attempt to pull it apart.

Clint scoured the walls of the cell, the bars of the inner door, looking for any weaknesses, finding none. Eventually he just sat down on the floor again, his face unreadable, and watched Steve pace.

*******

Tony returned later with a shrug, looking undamaged. Steve sagged with relief and Clint smiled a little. "Let's get the hell out of here, boys, whaddya say?" Tony asked nonchalantly.

"It's a dead end in here," Clint told him. "How did it look out there?"

Tony made a face. "Like a shitty lab, that's what. They watched me pretty close, and I didn't really see much to use for a jailbreak. It's sealed up tight, security wise, at least from what I could tell."

"How long till the others start looking for us?" Steve asked. "Can we just sit tight until they get here?"

"Our mission wasn't exactly Nick Fury sanctioned," Clint reminded them, "so Shield won't be looking, period. Natasha will, but it might be a week or more before she sounds the alarm. We were expecting to be radio silent for some time, after all. Bruce might not even notice we're gone at all if he's wrapped up in some experiment, and Thor...well, Thor doesn't exactly measure time the same way we do."

Steve looked at Tony. "Can you stall them for a week to give our team a chance? Uh, build slowly or something?"

"Oh, no worries," Tony assured him, "what I'm building is utter bullshit, and yes, I can bullshit slowly." He rolled his eyes. "They want me to make a kind of low rent Iron Man gauntlet that fastens to a solider's arm and goes pew pew and makes things 'splodey. But what I build will make zero 'splodies whatsoever."

"If it comes to it, I can take the first guard out," Clint suggested confidently. "And probably the second one also. The third might be a trick, if he's on the ball; they're armed."

"Take him out?" Steve repeated. "Incapacitate him, you mean?"

Clint raised his eyebrow. "Yeah," he said, and gave a faint, bitter smile. "That's what I meant, incapacitate. I can get his weapon away if you, Tony, can be ready to grab it to use on the third guy."

Tony nodded. "I can do that."

"I think we should wait, give the others a chance to find us," Steve argued. "I know you're good at what you do, Clint, but I don't want you or anyone else to get hurt."

  
Clint shrugged, and Tony sighed. "So okay, jumping the guards is our Plan B," Steve went on. "For now we stall, wait for the others to show, look for other escape options."

"Okay, Cap," Tony said finally. "We play nice for now."

*******

Tony Stark had a big heart; Steve had seen enough of the man to know that. What was most exasperating was that he hid that heart under two hundred layers of sarcasm, mockery, and scorn. He loved to pick on all of them and did so endlessly.

"It's how I show my love," Tony always said with a grin and a shrug, and Steve suspected that was truer than the man even knew.

Barton wasn't much fun for Tony to tease, since 99% of everything rolled off his back, with the remaining 1% utterly ignored. Clint would also harass Tony right back, the two of them riffing off one another endlessly, until Clint would suddenly get tired of it and wander off.

Tony never got tired of it. Ever.

Natasha was given the widest berth. At first Steve thought it was due to some unexpected chivalry by Tony, only to realize later it was because he, like everyone, was more than a little afraid of her. "Witchy woman," Tony would croon softly at her, and when she would glare his eyes would sparkle with a mixture of exaltation and fear.

Bruce and Steve were undoubtedly Tony's favorite targets. He verbally needled Bruce endlessly, pranked him at every opportunity, booby trapped his lab. On one memorable occasion they had attempted a pool party, with Bruce stalking out after his fifth dunking by Tony.

"I'm going to go do literally anything else," he said, toweling his hair as he went indoors.

Tony, half drunk and parading around in the nude ("It's a skinny dip party, guys! What the hell, you're Earth's Mightiest Heroes, be brave!") tried to call him back, laughing, then saw Natasha slathering on sunscreen and plopped onto the chaise next to her.

"Can I have some lotion?" He batted his eyelashes at her.

"No."

"But my skin is really dry!" he whined. "I'm gonna get a sunburn! And it will be all your fault." He waved his arm in her face and pouted. "I thought you used to be a Communist, that you guys shared shit."

Natasha knocked his arm away, then in one unhurried motion launched the sunscreen bottle at his crotch and dove soundlessly into the pool.

Steve sat beside Tony with a sigh and offered him a towel to cover up a bit, which Tony threw defiantly on the ground. "Stark...are you trying to make Bruce lose control? Hulk out? Are you trying to make _Natasha_ Hulk out, for that matter?"

Tony smirked. "Stevie, much as you missed the transpiring of, well, everything in the last sixty years, you miss the point of this." He grinned, and Steve realized that the man was much less drunk than he had thought. "It's to prove to them that they don't freak out. A bunch of pussycats really, with a lot more self control than they think.'

Tony's eyes drifted to the pool, where Clint and Natasha swam laps, racing, he only slightly in the lead. He peeked back at Steve, who sat with a thoughtful expression on his face, and leaned close.

"Those two are totally doing it," Tony said in a loud, exaggerated stage whisper. "And, Cap, by 'doing it', I mean knowing each other Biblically. And by 'knowing each other biblically' I mean having sweaty, angry sex, like everyone had in Bible times. And by 'having sex' I totally mean bumping uglies."

Steve felt himself blush and inwardly cursed himself. He had long since learned that not responding to Tony's teasing was the best recourse, but he couldn't help the crimson flush of embarrassment that spread over his face and neck. Tony saw it too, grinned delightedly. He elbowed Steve conspiratorially.

"Who could blame them, though, huh? With a sweet piece like that?"

Steve's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Natasha, horrified that she might hear.

"Dead sexy! I mean ha-cha-cha!" Tony went on. He winked. "That Barton...he's fucking _hot_!"

Steve sagged back in relief, rolling his eyes. "God, Stark, you are ridiculous. Sometimes I can't even tell when you are joking."

Tony gave him a dazzling smile. "Oh Captain, my Captain--sometimes I hardly know myself."

*******

Day Three

"There could be a camera somewhere. They could be watching, listening." They had looked many times and hadn't discovered one, but Steve still felt a lingering paranoia about it.

"I just can't imagine where it would be," Tony said, shrugging.

"And if they are watching there is exactly fuck-all we can do about it," Clint added.

"Language," Steve sighed. It was crudely stated, but the man had a point. "Let's work on this," he suggested, holding up the chain.

That idea had to wait while the guards came and summoned Tony to work on their project. He rolled his eyes dramatically as they hooded him and then sauntered slowly out, as if the guns at his head did not bother him at all. Clint stood passively against his wall with his arms up as usual, the picture of compliance. As soon as the metal door rolled shut he immediately went over to Steve.

"How about we work on the wall bolt this time?" he asked, running his fingers over it.

"Alright." Steve gathered up as much of the chain as he could, looping it around his elbow and forearm. "I'll pull from here."

Clint nodded, then reached up, grasped the bolt with both hands. He used it to pull himself up on the wall, bracing with both feet, using his body weight and all the force he could muster, trying to loosen it.

They both groaned with effort, but, like all their previous attempts, it was fruitless. Still they kept at it for a few hours, until Steve saw blood dripping from Clint's fingers. He called an end to it then, though Clint wanted to continue trying.

"There's no point," Steve said defeatedly, watching as Clint ran his hands under the water in the sink. The basin turned pink, then red. Several of his fingernails had been ripped to the quick and looked painful. "I'm not going anywhere."

Clint looked at him. "It's time for Plan B," he said, and his face was carefully neutral. "They're going to figure out that Tony is building a dud and when they do, this all turns ugly. We can't count on the others coming any time soom. We have to get ourselves out. We have to try."

"I know," Steve agreed with a sigh. "I just hate the thought of people getting hurt." He was actually a little embarrassed to admit that in front of a master assassin, and looked up in surprise when Clint laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Blood still welled on his fingers.

"Don't worry, Cap, it's normal to feel that way...to not want to hurt people." Clint's words were gentle, but his usually kind eyes were hard, something frightening. "Luckily for us, I've never had a problem with that. I've never had a problem hurting people at all."

*******

Day Four

Tony couldn't stall anymore, his "invention" was almost complete.

"They're gonna blow a gasket when they see it doesn't work," he announced gleefully that night. "It's almost worth waiting another day just to see their reaction when they charge the thing up and it just sits there like a dumb shit."

Clint smirked. After four days of waiting in the cell with Steve he was restless, ready to be more proactive about the situation. "Tomorrow morning, when they come to get Tony, we make our move," he said. It was his mission voice, all business, all ruthless efficiency. "I just wish we could be more sure whether or not there is backup security down further in the hall."

"I always have a bag on my head," Tony said again--they had been through this exhaustively-- "but I don't _think_ there is anyone else. As far as I know it's just our pals Larry, Curley, and Moe. If there is anyone they are silent as church mice."

"I'll take out the first guard, disarm the second, and also the third if I can. Tony, you have _got_ to get the guns from them."

"I will."

Steve pulled the collar away from the skin on his neck irritably, feeling useless. "What can I do?" he asked Clint.

"Just be ready."

******

That night it was hard to fall asleep. The lights were always on so it was never easy to begin with, but now, knowing a fight was coming, sleep was even more elusive. Steve was stretched out on the floor, the others in the bunks. Clint was in the top bunk and kept reaching up to drum his bare feet softly on the ceiling. Tony was busying himself by methodically pulling all the buttons off the thin mattress he lay on.

"Clint, who would win in a fight, you or Natasha?"

"Natasha," Clint answered, sounding bored.

"I mean a real fight, not training."

"Natasha."

"What if you were fresh from ten cups of coffee and she was coming down from an all night vodka and chinese food bender?"

"Natasha."

"What if you were super mad and she couldn't use her legs?"

"Natasha."

Tony hrmphed, annoyed that Clint would not play along. "If you couldn't be an Avenger anymore and you had to get a real, adult-type job, what would you guys do?" he tried instead. "And you can't work for Shield either," he added quickly.

"Since this question is just a vehicle for you telling us what _you_ would do, why don't you just cut to the chase?" Clint crabbed, and Steve laughed.

"Well, since you asked--I'd be a model. Not a clothes model, but you know, be the face man for guy perfume or something. The kind of thing where I just smolder and they take my picture and put it in a magazine next to a bottle of musk."

"This is a great plan," Clint observed wryly, and Steve laughed again.

"Cap? What would a former professional ice cube do for a j-o-b?"

Steve sighed, sure it was one of Tony's games, designed to be turned around at the end to make him look foolish. But there wasn't much else to do, and sleep was impossible, so he answered "I'd be a fireman or something, I guess. That way this enhancement could still be useful, even if I weren't Captain America."

"Fireman, that's a good one," Tony said approvingly. "It suits you." Steve waited for the dig, but it never came. "Clinton?"

Clint made a small sound of disgust at his despised given name. "Well, _Anthony_ , I guess I'd go into construction or something like that. I always thought it'd be fun to ride up high in one of those bucket trucks. Or drive a bulldozer, that'd be awesome."

Tony laughed. "Seriously, Clint? You fly quinjets all over the world and you would choose to drive a _bulldozer_? I know you didn't go to college, but--manual labor? Set your sights a little higher, Tweetie Bird."

There was an awkward silence, then Clint said quietly, "My dad worked in construction."

Steve heard himself saying "Mine, too."

Tony cleared his throat and had the good grace to sound embarrassed. "I'm sorry. There's nothing wrong with that. It just...wasn't the answer I expected."

"No big deal," Clint said easily, with an almost audible shrug. He, like Steve, had always been one of the peacemakers of the group. "My dad was a real bastard, but I always liked watching him and the other guys work. They seemed so strong, you know, and cool, too, driving the heavy machinery around. I would watch them as a little kid and think about how I couldn't wait to be tough like that."

Steve smiled, remembering feeling something similar, then watched Clint lean precariously over the side of his bunk to peer down at Tony. "Little did I know back then," Clint went on, his tone light now, teasing, "that the _real_ tough guys wore spandex, or metal helmets and codpieces."

Tony laughed and swatted at him, Clint ducking out of the way at the last second and throwing himself back into bed, chuckling.

"Go to sleep, you two," Steve said finally. "Tomorrow is a big day."

  
*******

Day Five

Steve was on edge from the moment they awoke, watching the cell door and jumping at every noise from the hallway. Tony was uncharacteristically quiet, glancing at Steve occasionally. Clint alone appeared calm, washing his face and rinsing his mouth at the small sink.

"I wish they'd at least give us a toothbrush," he griped good-naturedly. "I don't want to end up at the dentist over this fiasco." His eyes were bright, and Steve realized with a slightly sick feeling that Clint was excited. _Just eager to get out of here_ , Steve told himself, unwilling to entertain the thought that some part of Clint might actually be looking forward to the coming violence.

About an hour later the solid outer door rolled open, and Steve could see the three guards standing outside the barred door. "Move to the walls, arms out," the first guard droned, sounding bored. It was the same routine they had gone through many times over the past five days. The Avengers moved obediently, and the barred door rolled open. The guards stepped inside.

Steve had never seen anyone move faster than Clint did then.

He pushed off the wall with his hands and feet, jumping to the first guard's back and effortlessly snapping his neck. As the man fell to the ground Clint pulled the nightstick from his belt in one fluid, graceful motion and cracked it against the second guard's skull. The gun clattered to the floor as its owner dropped.

 _"Holy shit_!" Tony shouted, obviously startled by what was happening, but moving toward the gun. At the same time Clint was turning and striking the third guard hard with the narrow end of the nightstick, right over his heart, in a brutal stabbing motion.

Tony's hand had just closed around the barrel of the assault rifle when Steve saw them--the two other guards who had been waiting in the hall and were now moving in. Steve cried out, meaning to warn them, but had only time to make a strangled sound and reach uselessly for his friends before it all went to hell. Well... _more_ to hell.

They hit Clint with some sort of taser like weapon and he dropped soundlessly to the floor, eyes staring hugely, his mouth a silent rictus of pain. His back arched off the ground as electricity seized his muscles. His fingers curled into claws, the nightstick falling uselessly from his hand.

Tony froze, his eyes on Clint, then to the guards, then back to Clint. The guard not holding the taser came into the room, yelling, pointed his rifle at Tony's head. "To the wall, get back to the wall!" he screamed, and Tony scrambled back, his hands up.

Other people poured into the room then, grabbed the fallen guards by the legs, pulled them out. The gun and nightstick were kicked away and taken. Everyone was yelling, including Steve, who wasn't exactly sure what he was even saying. Only Clint was silent, except for some small choked noises as his body continued to seize.

Then the guards were backing out of the door, their weapons still on Tony and Steve. The taser-like weapon was thumbed off and Clint's arching back hit the floor with a meaty thud. He rolled to his side, gasping, as the cell doors slammed shut.

It was very quiet then, except for their ragged breathing. Steve could hear the blood rushing in his body, his pounding heart. He reached for Clint, but he lay too near the door, and the chain would not let Steve get close enough. After a few deep breaths Tony crawled over, pulled the taser prongs out, then put his arms around Clint and carefully pulled him to a seated position, resting against Tony's chest.

"So...I guess there were more goons in the hall. My mistake," Tony said finally, and Clint gave a shaky laugh.

*******

Day Six

The guards left them a long time after that--did not come to take Tony for his forced labor, did not come with food.

"I'm afraid there will be some sort of retaliation," Steve finally could not help but say and Tony gave him a withering look.

"Really, Cap, you think so?" he asked dryly. Tony was all restless energy, moving from wall to wall, again searching futilely for any weakness. When he did manage to sit for awhile he either chewed his fingernails or drummed his fingers constantly on his knees.

Clint sat on the floor next to Steve, every so often rolling his shoulders or stretching out his arms and legs, trying to work out the sore muscles. The only real damage he had taken was a badly broken tooth, the result of clenching his jaw so tightly while being shocked. "I'll have to visit the dentist after all," he had observed mournfully as he spit part of it into the sink.

 _Yet another tooth lost in captivity_ , Steve thought to himself, and felt like he might be sick.

*******

Day Seven

It was impossible to be sure of the time without windows, and when the lights always blared, but Steve guessed it was nighttime when the cell doors opened again. The three Avengers moved silently, pressed their backs against the walls without being directed.  
  
Salyers stepped into the cell, two armed guards behind him, and two additional ones armed and watching from the doorway. He went straight to Clint, his hard eyes boring into Clint's bluish grey ones. "You killed my boys," he said without preamble. "They were good men, with families, but you don't care anything about that."

"You've kept us prisoner for a week," Clint answered evenly, "You forced one of my friends to build you weapons at gunpoint and chained the other to the wall like a dog."

They continued to gaze at one another impassively. Finally Salyers said again, "You killed my boys." And Clint seemed to hear something in this that Steve did not, because he just nodded and held out his hands.

"What are you doing?" Tony demanded, but did not move from the wall as they cuffed Clint tightly, forcing his arms behind his back.

"Shut up," Salyers said absently. "He understands."

Clint walked out the door between two of the guards without protest. His back was straight; he did not look back.

"What are you doing??" Tony repeated, his voice angry this time. "What are you going to do with him?"

Salyers moved close until his face was directly in Tony's. "It's time for the three of you to learn some lessons," he said darkly, and Tony's eyes widened--the man had obviously discovered by now that the weapon did not work. "And since Hawkeye is the one who hurt my men...well, I'm just going to have to clip his wings."

As the cell doors clanged shut Steve was more frightened than he had ever been.

*******

Several hours later the cell doors opened, and Clint was thrown inside. Steve's first horrified thought was that the archer was dead, but Clint cried out when he hit the floor, curling immediately in the fetal position, his body turned away from them.

"Clint, Clint, are you okay?" Steve was asking even as Tony was yelling "What did you do to him?"

The barred door rolled shut, but Salyers raised a hand to stop the guard from closing the outer door. "I want to watch this," he said. "I want to see the look on his face when he sees it." He aimed a toothy, mocking grin at Tony. "Go ahead," he encouraged. "Go and look."

Steve and Tony moved from their walls and immediately to Clint, who flinched bodily away and cried out softly again from the movement. He rolled up until he sat on his knees, still facing away from them, hunched over protectively and shaking. Salyers and his men laughed.

Tony snarled at them and put a hand on Clint's back. "What happened? Talk to us, man, are you okay?" He tried to uncurl Clint a little, to turn him toward them, but when he touched Clint's arms, the other man gasped painfully, and Tony jerked his hands away.

Finally, shuddering hard, Clint raised his agonized face and met Tony's eyes. "It's not your fault," he choked out.

The guards laughed.

Tony froze. "What?" he asked sharply, apprehensively. "Let me see. Let me see what they did to you." He pulled at Clint's shoulders.

"Show him!" one of the guards called out, and they all laughed again. Salyers' eyes were bright, excited.

Moaning, Clint moved his chest up a little from his curled position, and Steve gasped when he saw the mangled right arm. It was crisscrossed with long, red incisions that had been closed with sloppy, ugly stitches.

The useless weapon Tony had spent the week making had been surgically implanted in Clint's drawing arm.

Steve's skin crawled at the sight, and also at the sound of Tony's howls of rage. Stark threw himself against the bars of the cell door, lunging for Salyers, who stood laughing just out of his reach. "I'll kill you!" Tony screamed. "You son of a bitch, I'll fucking kill you!"

Salyers' grin was all mocking delight. "You did this," he said cheerfully. "You and Barton can just remember that--you both are responsible for this." His voice grew serious then and he eyed Tony. "Tomorrow you will be ready to get back to work. Maybe you'll find you have a little more incentive this time to succeed." He stepped back and the steel door closed.

"Oh my God," Steve repeated again and again, and pulled Clint carefully to him. "Let me see it," he said, being as gentle as possible as he inspected the damage. Clint shook involuntarily with pain, helpless tears leaking from his eyes. Steve's fingers reached up to wipe them from his friend's pale face.

"It's not your fault," Clint moaned again at Tony, who was still rampaging through the cell, kicking and punching the walls until his knuckles bled. At his words Tony clutched his skull and gave an agonized wail behind clenched teeth.

"It's because I--" Clint tried to say, but couldn't finish the sentence. He grew paler, his eyes rolling back a little, and he would have fallen if Steve had not been there to catch him.

"Tony!" Steve called. "Stop it, I need you to help me. Tony! Come on, he needs us, he could be in shock." Steve lowered Clint carefully to the floor. "Get me the blankets, Stark, quit that and come help me."

Tony rose stiffly to his feet and stalked to the bunks, pulling the blankets off angrily. He wadded them up in his arms and brought them over to Steve, his eyes still wild around the edges. They tucked the blankets around Clint the best that they could, avoiding his injured arm. Steve tried to recall his first aid training, and after a moment's thought lifted up Clint's legs and rested them in Tony's lap.

"I don't know what else to do," Steve admitted finally. "Maybe get him to drink a little water, when he wakes up."

"There's nothing, _nothing_ , else to do!" Tony whispered fiercely, and his body was trembling with rage. "They put that.... _thing_..." he could barely choke the word out, and Steve put a calming hand on his shoulder. "They cut him to pieces and then sewed that thing right into his skin, oh my God. Oh my God."

*******

A few hours later Tony had calmed considerably. Clint awoke with a gasp, struggling to get out of the blankets and crying out in pain when he moved his arm. He froze, panting, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Take it easy, Tweetie," Tony said. "We've got you, you're okay." His face twisted at the hollowness of his own words.

Clint opened his eyes then, his face a miserable mirror of Tony's. He was shaking again. He glanced down at his arm, then quickly away. "I'm sorry," he surprised them by saying. "If...if I had..." He winced, gritted his teeth. "If I had g-g-gone for the gun, instead of the third guy, maybe I could have--"  
  
Steve shushed him, pulled his trembling body into an embrace. "Let's wrap that arm, stabilize it if we can," he suggested to Tony over Clint's head. They had been too worried to try anything earlier.

Tony nodded and began tearing one of the blankets...they only had two undamaged ones left now, Steve noted. Luckily the cell was not very cold, and with his enhanced metabolism Steve didn't really need his. Tony could probably go without, too, if it came to it.

Whispering "Sorry, sorry" at Clint's hitched breath, Tony bandaged the wound the best that he could, then wrapped a large piece of the fabric around Clint's chest, pinning the arm down, immobilizing it. Painkillers would have been preferable, but having it still seemed to help, Clint relaxing slightly. Not seeing the angry cuts and gleaming metal also helped them all breathe a bit easier.

"How can we get some water into you, buddy?" Tony wondered. Food had been peanut butter sandwiches for every meal, but there were never any beverages; they had been drinking from the sink faucet directly or from cupped hands. "If we help you up, can you drink from the tap, do you think?"

Clint made a sound that might have been assent, so Steve rose carefully and helped him up. Clint was still shaking hard, but was able to keep his feet under himself and, supported heavily, stumble over to the sink. With Steve's constant encouragement he had just managed to drink a few mouthfuls before they heard the slide of the outer cell door opening.

Tony's panicked eyes met Steve's, who swung his arm behind Clint's knees and scooped him up easily, carrying him swiftly to the wall with the beds. He sat Clint down carefully with his back braced against the lower bunk. Tony took the wall nearest to the door, his body thrumming with stress.

The barred door rolled open and the first guard stormed in, gun in his hands. "Ready to work?" he asked Tony, who nodded quickly. Then the guard looked at Clint and moved to stand over his slumped, seated form. "Arms up!" he barked.

"He can't, he's hurt!" Steve protested, aghast.

The guard shrugged and pulled the taser out of his pocket. Clint eyed it blearily and fumbled with his good arm, trying to bring the other out of the sling. The guard gave a short laugh and turned the taser on with a charging whine, waving it tauntingly in Clint's face.

"Fuck, fuck, I'll get it, I'm getting it, don't hurt him!" Tony slid along his wall until he came to where Clint sat slumped, then reached out with one hand to untie the makeshift sling, then backed away quickly to his original position. Clint's bad arm fell limply, the metal clanging as it hit the floor. He shut his eyes and groaned, jaw clenched tightly.

"Arms. Up." The guard said dangerously. One of the other guards snickered from behind.

With sweat pouring down his face and a steady whine in his throat, Clint struggled to raise his injured arm, finally getting it high enough to rest alongside the frame of the bunk bed. Breathing raggedly, he raised the other arm as well, his head lolling back weakly against the mattress.

The guard tased him anyway, laughing as Tony and Steve screamed.

*******

They dragged Tony, still yelling curses, out. The doors slammed, leaving Steve with an unconscious Barton and his own hammering heart.

He considered lifting Clint to the bed to rest more comfortably, but was afraid of jostling his arm any more than necessary. Finally Steve settled on pulling the thin mattress off the bunk and to the floor. He moved Clint onto it as carefully as he could and laid down beside him.

A few minutes later Steve gave up pretending that he was not terrified and pulled Clint bonelessly into his arms, rocking him a little and wishing for better days.

*******

Day Nine

"Please tell me you have a plan," Steve said, "because I am fresh out of ideas." Clint's arm was infected and he was running a fever.

"Actually, I do." Tony's voice was unusually quiet.

"What is it?"

"It's not time yet, Cap. Almost. And I'll tell you all about it when the time comes....because you're not gonna like it." Tony's eyes were far away. "You're not gonna like it one bit." 

  
*******

Day Ten

"He's sick, he needs a doctor!" Steve tried again to reason with the guards. Guard One just shrugged and smirked a little.

Clint had spent the whole night prior throwing up while Steve held him over the toilet, Tony wiping the sweat from his face and neck. They had been sure he would die right then, but somehow the stubborn archer had hung on. Now he lay sprawled against the wall where Steve had propped him when the door opened, watching the conversation with hazy, fevered eyes. His breathing was too shallow, too fast. No one asked him to raise his arms this time; to Steve's relief that particular game appeared to be over.

"Please!" Steve tried again, not caring that he was begging. Guard One's face was an impassive mask, but Steve noticed one of the guards in the back, a younger man, was swallowing nervously, eyeing Clint.

Tony's sharp eyes saw him, too. "Is this what you signed on for, guys?" he asked acidly. "Mutilation and torture? Letting someone die slowly and horribly in front of you? Do you tell the story to your kiddies at night, when they ask about Daddy's day at work?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Guard One shouted, but motioned to one of the others, who turned and left. The others remained with their guns trained on Steve and Tony.

A few moments Salyers appeared, and Steve didn't know whether to feel hopeful or more afraid. The man went over to Clint, knelt down and put a hand to his forehead, then carefully, almost tenderly, unwrapped the makeshift bandage around his arm.

Red lines emanated from the edges of the implanted metal in a telltale sign of blood poisoning. Even from across the room Steve could see that some of the edges Clint's flesh were turning black, the wounds worse than they had been just the night before. Salyers studied this a moment, then covered the area back up. He looked at Clint, who watched him back with half lidded eyes.

"You're a warrior," he said to Clint, and his voice was not unkind. "But for a few twists of fate, you could have been one of my men, and I would have been proud to have you on our team. You're brave. You have heart."

Clint flinched at the last words, but held the man's gaze.

Salyers stood and sighed. "But instead you're going to die here on this dirty floor, you're going to die soon, and you're going to do it because you killed my boys."

He turned on his heel and walked out.

*******

Day Twelve

"I'm dyin', Cap." Clint's voice was almost unrecognizable. He lay still on the mattress, every movement a torment.

"No," Steve assured him. "Tony has a plan. You're going to be alright. Just hang on a little longer."

"I wan....I wanna see her again."

"Natasha?" Steve asked. Clint didn't answer. "I know you guys are, well, kind of sweethearts." It seemed the wrong word to use for two such powerful, dangerous people, but Steve couldn't think of a better one at the moment.

Clint's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Evvvv....one," he said, his words slurred badly, "always...think...that."

"You'll see her again," Steve promised, but Clint didn't answer any more.

That night, when Tony returned from his work, Steve told him they couldn't wait any longer.

"We won't have to," Tony answered, and Steve's body sagged in relief. "Tomorrow, when they come for me...I'll get us out of here." 

*******

Day Thirteen

"What are you going to do?" Steve asked. "Is the weapon ready? Can you use it on them?" He was sitting on the mattress with his arms around Clint, who had been unresponsive since the night before. His eyes were still open, though, every so often giving a sluggish blink.

Tony went to the sink and washed his hands, his wrists, his arms. "They're expecting that, so they don't let me have enough pieces...enough pieces to make it fully work."

"Oh." Steve was confused, and more than a little bothered by the remote sound of Tony's voice, the way his friend seemed to be trying to disengage himself. "I thought that was the plan? The weapon?"

"It is." Again the toneless voice. "The gun is almost done, just needs a couple more pieces to make it operational. But they're smart, they make sure I can't get the parts, can't use it on them."

"Okay." Steve sighed. "Tony, talk to me. What's happening?"

Tony started washing his hands again. "They've been watching me so closely...they've been expecting that'd I try something. Knew that I would, that I had to, with Clint dying. Thought I would take things, try to make something back here to use. So they've been watching me, to make sure I don't sneak anything out."

Tony moved over to them then, and laid his hand gently, so gently, on Clint's shoulder. "But what they don't watch for, don't expect, is that I would sneak something _in_."

Maybe Clint would have figured out the implication, before--he was a smart guy--but was too far gone now, the bacteria teeming in his blood clouding any understanding. Steve wasn't able to follow where Tony was heading either, but felt a heavy dread settle across his chest when Stark began unwrapping the blanket bandage from Clint's mangled arm.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Just a little bit of pain," Tony said softly.

"Tony, what are you--" Steve began again, and then realized. "No. You can't be serious. No. _No_."

"Just a little bit of pain," Tony repeated soothingly to Clint, even though he was beyond hearing, "before I can save you." Tony's voice was quiet and his face calm, but his eyes were screaming. He opened the bandage, lay the sides back to expose the wounds and machinery beneath. "Just a little bit of pain, Clint, and then it will all be over, I promise. It's the last piece I need, and then you'll be okay. I'll get you out of here."

"Don't, Tony," Steve begged as Stark's fingers ran lightly over the metal--what he had called a "low rent Iron Man gauntlet" what seemed like ages ago. "Don't, please, don't. You're going to kill him!"

"No," Tony said quietly. "I'm going to save him. I'm going to save you both."

"Don't do this, Tony!"  
  
"Hold him still Steve, don't let him move." Tony twisted a strip of blanket, then tied it tightly into a tourniquet around Clint's upper arm. He took a steadying breath and then slowly let it out, passing his fingers gently over his friend's pale face. "Close your eyes, Clint. Let Cap hold onto you and just close your eyes."

"Noooooo," Steve heard himself moan, but even as he protested he was doing as Tony instructed, was wrapping his arms tightly around Clint. Clint's head fell back against Steve's shoulder, eyes drifting shut.

"I'm going to save you," Tony said again, and tears streamed down his face as he tore the metal from Clint's flesh.

*******

Clint hadn't screamed, hadn't even cried out, and somehow that had been the worst part of all. As the metal had pulled easily--too easily--from his gangrenous skin and muscle there had been almost no reaction from the archer. All the terror had come from Tony, from Steve, as they wrapped his new injury as tightly as they could. Steve soaked up blood from the floor with their last blanket and threw it in the corner.

Clint was unconscious by the time Tony started pulling the invention apart with shaking hands. He tucked the useless parts under one of the mattresses, and hid the bloody piece needed to make the new weapon work in the waistband of his pants.

"Aren't you even going to wash it off?" Steve asked sickly. He felt weak, as if he were the one bleeding.

"No," Tony said grimly. "Let them see the blood. I want them to see what they have done."

*******

The guards came to get Tony, and if they noticed that he was more subdued than usual they said nothing. Steve cradled Clint in his arms, not moving to prop him against the wall, his eyes daring the guards to make him let go of his friend. Guard One took a look at Clint's white, still face, and Steve's somber one, and smiled broadly.

Tony's eyes met Steve's briefly before they walked him out.

Steve thought of Salyers saying _I'm going to clip his wings_ , and hoped the man would be there when it happened, that Tony would kill him. He shuddered, hugged Clint closer, and waited.

*******

There were only Steve's thoughts, and the sound of Clint's labored breathing, for a long time. Then, from far away, a boom.

Then another. And another.

An alarm sounded somewhere, muffled by the steel walls. Steve held his breath and strained to hear--there were gunshots, shouting, screams. The sounds of what might have been repulsor blasts. It was all very quick, and still lasted forever.

Silence fell again. Steve heard loud footsteps in the hall, coming toward them. He lowered Clint's body carefully to floor and moved protectively in front of him, ready to face whoever was coming. He steeled himself as the cell doors rolled open, then cried out in relief.

It was Tony, his Iron Man armor reclaimed, holding Steve's shield. He tossed it to the Captain, who turned and sliced it downward in a sharp motion, breaking the cursed chain at last. It hit the floor with a loud clanging noise.

Tony crossed the room in three long strides, his faceplate peeling back to expose his worried face beneath. The rest of the armor moved back and he stepped out of it. He put a gentle hand on Clint's chest, visibly relieved to see it still rise and fall.

"It's done," Tony breathed. He looked up at Steve. "Natasha and Thor will be here any minute. They're close; they've been looking for us almost this whole time." He leaned closer to Clint, stroked his hair. "Hear that, man? Your girl is on her way. It's going to be alright, it really is. Just keep hanging on, we've got you."

"Thank God," Steve said, sinking to the floor. "You did it. We made it."

"We did." Tony sat down beside him, head back against the wall, one hand still on Clint's chest. A few moments later he said quietly, "The weapon worked. They never saw it coming. I killed them all, Cap."

Steve put his arm around him. "I know you did. I'm sorry." He pulled Tony close, his blond head against Tony's dark one.

*******

A few days later Clint stopped opening his eyes for 30 seconds at a time and woke up for real.

"Nnnnnshhhhha," he groaned, blinking and picking groggily at his IV.

"Well, isn't _that_ a fine howdy-doo?" Tony griped, his relieved smile undermining his words. "Cap and I haul your sick ass around for two weeks and you wake up calling for Natasha! I even bought you a present, too, you ungrateful turd." He pulled Clint's fingers away from the IV. "Stop messing with that, Cuckoo Bird, it bringeth thine drugs, and they be mighty."

Clint groaned again, then finally seemed to be able to focus his eyes and recognize Steve and Tony. He jerked suddenly, eyes darting to the bandage on his right arm.

"You're okay," Steve said quickly, pressing gently on Clint's chest, trying to keep him from moving too much. "They said your arm is going to be okay."

"Yeah," Tony confirmed breezily. "Fury's people and Bruce have some ideas of how to heal the muscles and they all sound outlandish and unlikely...which means they will probably work. You're like a damned cat, Barton--nine lives and always landing on your feet."

"It's gone?" Clint's voice was weak. "They took it off?"

Steve and Tony exchanged a look. "Yeah, it's off," Tony said gently, and Steve was glad that Clint had been spared that particular memory.

Clint let out a relieved sigh and smiled a little. "Where's Natasha?"

Tony made an offended noise and Steve grinned. "She left not too long ago, Clint. I'll text her, though, tell her you're awake."

"Where's my present, then, Tony? You said you got me a present." Clint tried for an irritated tone but his voice was a little too shaky to pull it off.

"Ah!" Tony grinned hugely. "It's too big to fit in this hellhole, but no worries, I took a picture." He held out his phone to Clint, who peered at it owlishly, trying to see past the glare of the overhead lights.

"I can't even tell what the heck that is."

Tony's eyes danced with excitement. "I bought you a bulldozer, Tweetie, and as soon as you're better, you, me, and Hulk are gonna get on that sonofabitch and drive around, smashing shit to pieces."

 _Language_ , Steve almost warned, but didn't, laughing instead at Clint's loud whoop of delight.

 


End file.
